


so anyway i started stabbing

by pedri



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Knifeplay, Other, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, mentions of Dwight Fairfield, reader is not okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pedri/pseuds/pedri
Summary: You spend your days waiting to feel anything in the Entity's Realm, until you finally find solace in the Entity's game.Then you feel a little bit more.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 84





	so anyway i started stabbing

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW oneshot of Myers/Reader. Myers is Myers so expect some violence. No pronouns are used for reader. Currently unedited as of 1/16, will come back to this soon to fix mistakes.
> 
> First time really writing for a fandom. Happy to take any suggestions or critique, but please keep in mind that I'm new at this.

You waited.

You waited.

You waited...

You closed your eyes and leaned back, opting to rest against the log rather than on it. The ground felt surprisingly soft against your bottom, the fire creating shadows behind your eyelids and casting a warm glow against your outstretched legs. Never too hot, never too cold--if there was anything that could be considered "kind" in the Entity's realm, it was perhaps the firm neutrality in everything. You never felt hunger, or thirst, or cold, unless you missed it. Sometimes you imagined yourself starving just to feel the sharp pangs of hunger, your stomach rolling uncertainly as you thought of fast food and buffets. Sometimes feeling that pain or that cold was preferable than feeling nothing at all.

And you have been feeling like nothing.

It's a sign you've been here too long, you think. It's impossible to keep time here, a world where there's never a sun, and you doubt the entity would conform to something as simple as the hours on Earth. It could have been years since you arrived, or perhaps just minutes. Even the other survivors aren't any help in narrowing down the time: you've seen people pass by in attire that seemed more appropriate for the early 1900's, others in flashier clothing that catches your eye but you're unable to name what period it may belong to. Sometimes they'll stay by the campfire for a while, talking to you in low or frightened tones, before inevitably disappearing. Off to a game, and continued moving on, or maybe the Entity just didn't have need of their service any longer.

You wondered how long it would take for you to disappear.

You feel like you're close to it, in all honesty.

You don't frighten as easily as you did before, when you'd cower at the fire and cry for your family. Now you just.... exist. And wait.

You had begun looking forward to the games, as bad as that sounds. You were tired of languishing in the campgrounds, tired of the sobbing and scheming of new survivors who think they could possibly outrun a god. At best it was irritating, but at its worst you just floated through it all, blind and deaf to the turmoil of others as you just waited to feel something different... and the thrill of the chase was such a delicious break to that monotony. It thundered through you, the heartbeat tantalizingly close as you hid in a locker or crouched in the grass. It was even more thrilling when you were caught: the desperate run through the house, practically feeling the breath on your neck as fingers graze the neck of your shirt to yank you towards a waiting weapon. Maybe they'd kill you, or maybe they'd heft your body onto the hook, your weight sliding you down further as you writhed in pain. Sometimes your hunter would watch as you struggled, waiting for the entity to lift you towards its waiting maw, and you took such delight in seeing their eyes as you choked on blood. Other times they'd hide, waiting for a softhearted player to attempt to free you, and if you weren't drowning in blood you laugh and laugh as you saw the frantic movements to free you, either ending in their own agonizing death or another desperate flight for you both.

Sad when your death is the highlight of your life, but you'll take what you can get. Just the thoughts of it make you shiver in anticipation.

* * *

You open your eyes as you exhale, the fog and limbs lifting from your mind and vision to reveal your new playground. A small road and cars greet you, and you smile. Haddonfield. It gave you a special sort of thrill to be fighting for your life in such a suburban dream. You wonder if that meant The Shape would be haunting you this time. You're not sure who else is in here with you--you think the man with the glasses was vaguely familiar--and you can only hope they're well equipped to deal with The Shape's way of hunting. So many others were too used to the bellows of a chainsaw or the rush of a sword and it showed when faced against a beast like The Shape.

He'd wait

and wait

and wait

and then it would be over. A match against The Shape was always a lesson in patience... as well as subtly. You like to think you were well-versed enough to keep yourself concealed from his gaze, but it's hard to always stay one step ahead. Whether it was yourself or some other poor fool, someone would eventually stumble, and the killing spree would begin.

You begin your walk. The nearest generator would be your goal, but you kept your eye out for any chests or totems that would lend you aid. Of course, you also kept yourself alert for whatever killer may be lurking about. You ears were your greatest ally here: you did not hear the rev of a chainsaw or a ringing bell. No soft lullabies or laughter in the air. Besides that, you did not see any Jigsaw Boxes or Fountains. With your senses alone you could drastically narrow down your list of suspects, but there was always the possibility they were just being careful. Still, your initial guess at The Shape wiggled in the back of your mind. A hunch was all it was, but you had a feeling it was correct. Besides, it'd only make sense if he were here. It was his home after all.

You were halfway through your first generator when you felt him: a tense, tingling sensation erupting in your body. Your hands began to shake and you had to take your hands off of the repair in fear of damaging the generator. You were working on it with another survivor, that man with the glasses you still cannot remember the name of, and you glance at him to ensure he has the same realization. Or, you would have, if he was still there. You can't help but smile--at least someone else was smart enough to get away while they still could.

You draw yourself away from the generator, and begin to jog away. You're not sure where The Shape is, but you know you have to break eye sight. You don't want to waste all your energy however, and you definitely don't want to run straight into him. You turn a corner around a house... and right into the man with the glasses.

You both shout in surprise, panic--and the sensation gets stronger, the tips of your fingers going numb as your body begins to shake, the heart beating painfully in your head. You're right in his line of sight now, you know it, and judging by the scared face of the man in front of you, you would say hes right behind you. You panic for a moment, before adrenaline takes hold of your heart and you lunge at the man with the glasses. He gasps as your hands grab him, pulling him--then pushing him behind you. He yells in shock, fear, indignation, and then soon, pain. You push it out of your mind as you run away, all too aware that you could be next. You hear more screams before it suddenly falls quiet, and you push yourself to run faster as you realize what that means. Mori. Sacrificed.

Your fault, you guess. Oh well.

The heart beat gets quieter, before falling silent completely. Suddenly you can breathe again, your steps are more firm in their placement, and you take that moment to crouch low to the ground and crawl towards the locker. You open it as quietly as you can before slipping inside, then sit on the ground as you attempt to get a hold of yourself.

That was the first time that you had... done that. Thrown someone else to them like that. You aren't sure what to think. There's a small part of you, the part of you that remembers holding hands with friends and eating ice cream at home, that feels disgusted. But the majority of you is just so, so relieved. It worked, first of all, and also you can't help but dwelling on the scene. You can feel the fabric of his shirt against your fingers, the way he went practically boneless in your grasp. You didn't know you could be so powerful, or maybe he was just so weak. You wonder what The Shape thought--was he surprised at such a betrayal? Would he think it was funny to see one literally throw another to the wolves? Did he feel at all?

And still that small part nagged at you, painfully, until you finally scrub at your face and realize you're crying.

_What's wrong with you?_

You sit in the locker, and wait. You sit and wait even when another scream echoes across the realm. You wait as you hear a generator sputter to life. You wait as the heartbeat picks up again, pressing closer and closer to you until you squeeze your eyes closed at the pain before it moves on once again, frantic footsteps alerting you to a chase in progress. One more wail erupts before it all falls silent again, then you begin to breathe. You take a moment to listen to your surroundings before attempting to leave the locker. Even then, you move slowly, methodically. The others are either dead, hanging, or injured, but considering how quiet it is, you're betting on them being 'dead.' All you have to worry about is yourself now, and... get out. That's easy. It's easy.

You _can't_ get out. 

And you think that's whats ruined you. You stand up from your crouched position and realize, why even bother? All you strive for right now, all you _exist_ for, is that feeling of fear, that chase that makes your adrenaline spike and your hands shake. You get that here... and it just doesn't end. 

Why bother trying to escape? You know what you want. It's all you can tolerate anymore.

You begin to run. What elation, what _freedom_. Who cares who cares _who cares_ about these fucking gates, or that fucking hatch. You just want what everyone else was trying so hard to avoid: the feeling of hands against your neck as they squeeze and the sharp bite of a knife. You can get that now, damn whatever it is the Entity wants. When the heartbeat begins to pound in your head you yell in joy and fear and push yourself to run even harder, racing yourself against your killer. You're pretty sure you've never seen The Shape run before, but you like to think he's putting in the effort now. You run and vault and turn and run and vault until finally, you slide against the ground, your ankle giving away as it twists and you fall to the road. Your hands and knees take the brunt of the damage: your skin rubbed red and bleeding in some sections, the pebbles from the road sticking to the wound stubbornly, and your pants torn. The pain radiates up your arm until you can't help but lay back down on the road, your arms held away from you like you can't stand to see them. You lay there, panting, bleeding, and wait.

You feel some pleasure in that it looks like you managed to stump him. The boots come into your view and stop only a few scant inches away. He doesn't move any further, but you can feel his eyes on you, burning you as your mouth begins to dry and your limbs begin to shake once again. You've caught all of his attention now, and you feel like you're on a fire, the prickling sensation of your skin drawing goosebumps. You opt to move in his place, you hand reaching out to grasp at the toe of his boot. It seemed like neither of you were sure how to progress from here, but you could provoke him to _something_ , you thought. Your hand squeezes, and that prompts him to action. The boot steps out from under your grasp, before coming down to step on your wrist. It hurts, enough to freeze you in place and feel the uncomfortable grind of bones, but he doesn't press down any harder. It feels like a warning, a _don't move too much_ , because then the boot moves from your wrist and to your side, digging painfully in your ribs and lifting until you flip yourself over onto your back. From this position you could finally see your hunter's masked face. 

The euphoria of being caught runs through you.

The mask tilts, peering down in consideration at your prone form before the boot raises one more time to settle on your chest. The weight behind it shifts, the sudden mass of an adult man heavy on your ribs, and you gasp as the air begins to leave you. You whine as he presses harder, harder, so sure your ribs would crack, before he eases up again. This is.. different. You don't remember being played with like this before, at least not by The Shape. You take the time to take a breathe, the sudden rush of air painful in your chest... and then he presses down once more. _Definitely different. What changed?_

You.

This time when he steps off, you're grabbed by the collar of your shirt, dragging you painfully across your split knees before being lifted into the air. Your hands reach up to grab at him, afraid of both being choked and your shirt being ripped. He does nothing to dissuade your prying hands, only carrying you across the road before slamming your body against the side of a house. You writhe against him, the hand still wrapped in your collar, and then he moves and you feel it against your stomach. The knife presses against your skin, not enough to hurt just yet but enough to make you aware of whats about to happen. Your body stills, afraid of accidentally cutting yourself, but its at this moment that the knife begins to move. You feel its point press against your skin, pushing until finally the skin breaks, blood erupting in a small rivulet as you gasp in pain. It's not deep enough to be fatal, but it is _painful_ , and it hurts even more as The Shape slides the blade cleanly through your skin in one long cut across your stomach. He stops to look at the separation in your shirt, how quickly the blood stains its red, then he presses forward and does it again. You gain a matching slice right above it, this one digging a little bit harder into your flesh, and your face is wet with tears and happiness. It hurts, so much, but you feel the warmth in your belly and the static in your mind and you can't help but moan at the sensations.

A third mark, a fourth--neither quite as deep, but still enough to bring droplets of blood, and finally he moves your body down the wall to rest on his leg. You're not sure when he moved it between you, but you have no time to think as he bunches the ruined shirt in his hand and you raise your arms in cooperation to pull it off your body. It basically served no purpose anyways, cut up and bloody as it was. He _knows_ how much you longed for this, and it feels so intimate, him helping you towards your death, that you can't help but smile. The mask, as always, shows no emotion.

Now free from your shirt, the knife graces your skin once again, the blunt edge sliding, but not cutting, your chest. He raises it, catching it between the sides of your cuts that make you hiss in pain, coating a small portion in your blood, then moving it further to scrap against your nipples. You arch your back, trying to capture more of that feeling, but the knife moves away instead. His hand replaces it, moving towards your cuts and coating himself in your blood as he pushes against your stomach, watching the blood gush between his fingers as he plays with your wounds in morbid fascination. His fingers curl inwards, digging between your cuts as if to open them wider, your skin tearing beneath his palms. _He's inside you_ , you think, and you can't help but laugh at your perverse little joke. The Shape has no reaction.

In a moment of bravery you lean against him, rubbing the blood on your stomach against his coveralls, marking him in the process. You figure he seemed interested in your blood, you might as well share it with him. He makes no move to push you off, so you recline against him, scooting your butt back on his leg as you rest your head on your shoulder. The hand moved to grasp against your side, your blood sticking to your skin as he squeezes, and then he bucks his leg gently, bouncing you against him. You gasp at the unexpected movement before grinding down, chasing the sensation against your crotch. He's content to let you chase your high, keeping his leg still between you as he alternates between gentle and harsh squeezes in your side. It's only when you feel like you're making progress towards your orgasm when he suddenly moves away, dropping you in the dirt. You grunt in pain at the suddenly landing, confused and hurt and _hot_ , then you feel fingers in your hair that grips and drags you down. You drags you further than necessarily, listening to you cry in pain as the dirt and rocks scratch against the cuts on your stomach, then he finally drops your head down. You have no opportunity to stand as he sits behind you, his weight falling on your legs painfully to keep you down and his hand falling on your head, pushing your face into the dirt.

It hurts, the pressure around you, and then you feel the knife against your back slicing once more and you scream. It's so much worse when you can't see it coming, when you can only tense your body and wait in anticipation for the pain that comes. This cut is deeper than the others, makes you thrash against the ground and curl your hands into the dirt as you moan and cry. The Shape does not relent, and you do not want him to. The knife digs in once more, deeply--and then it stays there. You freeze at the sensation, the strange feeling of being stabbed, and even more so as you feel a hand grasp the top of your pants and pull. It's difficult to get them out of the way with the entire man sitting on your legs, but he gets them down far enough where he can freely slide his hand underneath your underwater to rest against you. Immediately you attempt to grind against him, gasping in both pain and pleasure as he pushes the knife further in.

Oh hell, you already loved the hunt. If this was how you were going to be killed, you'd be fine with saying here for eternity.

You could feel your orgasm building up again, grinding against his fingers as harshly as you could stand. The hand moved from your head, grasping the knife's hilt as you stiffen, and you scream as it's wretched out and stabbed back in. Your body spasms against the sudden attack, and The Shape moves his fingers against you to make up for the sudden halt in your grinding. You're frantic, writhing as the knife is stabbed into you again and still his hand does not stop, groping you, grinding, squeezing against your body and stabbing _again, again, again_ until finally you let out the most pathetic cry and feel yourself orgasm against his fingers. He does not stop feeling you, the once pleasant sensations now painful, until finally he pulls away and and you feel the knife touch your back one more time to

You lean against the log, head lulling back as you feel the fire against your legs. You feel so warm, so right.

You'll be fine.


End file.
